A complete list of activities I was involved with on Valentine’s Day -
1. I bought new pants. Plain, black, work pants.
2. I took myself to see “he’s just not that into you”. 600 single ladies had the same idea.
3. I treated myself to a fountain Diet Pepsi at KFC. I resisted buying a biscuit.
4. A homeless lady told me I was handsome.
5. Masturbated in a warm bath.
6. Sleep.
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me: just cuz i would be afraid of hurting you
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I went on a quick date with a guy from Match.com today. We met up in Williamsburg on the street. The closest bar was The Abbey. I had been there several times at night and it was rather fun. It seemed a little on the empty side this afternoon. We picked out a table in the corner and I went to the bar to get the first round. That’s when I noticed that everyone in the bar was rapt in silence while watching ‘Cool Hand Luke’ starring the late, great Paul Newman.
I brought the drinks back to the table. The wood floor creaked loudly as I walked across the suddenly vast terrain. An old lady at the bar turned her head in my direction, shushing me with her eyes. Paul Newman was doing something fantastic on the screen. I sat down across from my date and started whispering.
“Um, I think they turned this bar into a library.”
My date’s response? – “Shhhh!”
We both erupted into a giggle fit. Our eyes filled with funny tears and we stumbled through the get-to-know-you first date questions. We quickly finished out drinks and left right as the film was ending. Applause erupted. I felt it would be disrespectful to Paul Newman NOT to clap, so we awkwardly stood still and applauded with everyone. Then, they made an annoucement that they would start ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’ in 5 minutes.
We were drinking margaritas down the street 5 minutes later.
We talked VERY loud.
After my doctor’s appointment yesterday, I treated myself to an ice cream cone. Pralines & Cream is the best flavor ever! The ice cream man misheard me and started to scoop some Chocolate. I’m not a huge chocolate fan, most people think that’s weird, especially chicks on their periods.
I also was thinking of treating myself to a new Macbook computer so I went to visit the Apple Store in the Meatpacking District. There were all sorts of faggots up in this fantasy world of electronics. I was in the middle of texting Eric to see what kind of computer I should get, when a hot, black dude axed me, “What time is it?”
“It’s 4:20.” I choked back a chuckle. It was exactly 4:20.
I started to check my email at the computer next to where this dude was surfing the internet. He axed me, “How are you today?” Before I responded, I noticed that all the computers had digital clocks at the bottom of the screen.
“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you?”
“Just chillin’. You gonna buy a computer?”
“Thinking about it. You?”
“No, I already gots a lapbook at home.”
“Cool.”
“I want to let you know that you are very attractive.” Black guys love big, white dudes. This is a proven fact. I have neither fully embraced or refused this phenomenon.
“Pardon me?”
“I think you’re hot. You bottom? Top? You versatile? What?”
“..um, thanks… I’m versatile.” I was so shocked, I felt like I had to answer the question.
“Yeah? That’s good. Don’t wanna put yourself in a box.”
“Yup.”
“So, would you say that I’m your type?”
“You would fall under that umbrella, sure.”
He started singing that ‘Umbrella’ song and did a little dance. He was adorable. I wouldn’t consider him boyfriend material, but he would be fun to play wieners with. He moved a little closer to me and said, “Well, you’re my flavor too. My name is Troy. What are you doing the rest of the day?”
I excused myself to go “call a friend about what kind of computer he has.” I went upstairs to call my friend, Jeff, to gush about how I was totally being scooped up like a sweet piece of meat. We decided that it would be appropriate for me to invite this guy out for an afternoon cocktail. He was cute, masculine, funny, and he made me feel good about myself. I never get picked up anywhere, let alone in a fucking Apple Store. How gay is that? I hung up the phone and turned towards the spiral staircase. Troy was bounding up the stairs.
“Hey there, handsome. I thought you left.” He smiled.
“Oh no, just chatting with my friend. He got stuck at work and can’t be here for another hour. You wanna go kill an hour with me?”
“Let’s go murder that mutherfuckin’ hour!” He laughed. I felt alive with flirty electricity. Black guys love to lay the flirt down really hard and it was a rush to return the vibe. What a delightful turn of events. This is not how I thought my afternoon would end up. How fun! We ended up going to Rawhide, a dark, windowless gay bar. I ordered a Absolut Peach & Tonic and Troy wanted an Appletini. How lovely. I always enjoy a good theme and it appeared that “apple” was today’s buzzword.
Troy and I chatted about movies and politics and favorite sexual positions. He drank his Appletini pretty fast. We tapped each other’s feet and rested our hands on each other’s thighs. He went on a small tirade about a tranny that he knew who got in a fight with a friend of his. Troy cussed a little and badmouthed trannies in general. Afterwards, he said, “Pardon my ghetto-ness.”
I told him how I was writing a play and he discussed how he wanted to be a writer and tell his life story. He gave me a brief account of growing up in foster homes in South Carolina and how he ran away to New York when he was seventeen.
“How old are you now?”
“Nineteen.”
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
“Hope that’s not too young for you. How old are you?”
“… I’m 25.” I had to lie! I wasn’t about to tell this child I was 31. This boy, who looked like a man, had pounded an Appletini like a pro.
How the hell did I just find myself in a shady bar with a teenager? We chatted some more about who knows what while I flipped through my brain rolodex on ways to get out of this situation. We laughed about something, I forget what, and he leaned into me and cooed, “So you wanna go to the bathroom and I’ll suck your dick for 40 bucks?”
“Huh?”
“40 bucks and I’ll suck your dick. I’ll swallow for 50.”
“Um, no thanks. I assume these drinks are gonna be on me.”
“I was hoping so. I hope I didn’t throw you off guard.” He smiled that smile that seemed so genuine a half hour ago. Now, even with his perfectly clean and straight teeth, the smile made me feel gross, used, and sad.
“No, it’s fine. I didn’t realize I was being reeled in for a hustle.”
“It’s only a hustle if I get money from you, sexy.”
“Well, you got an 8 dollar Appletini. It might be small, but it’s still a hustle.”
“There ain’t nothing small about either one of us. I bet you have a big dick.”
“I do. My dick is amazing, but he doesn’t pay to play.” A surge of testosterone swelled inside me. All this tough-guy talk was turning me on, but also had me filled with rage. Where were the hidden cameras? What character am I living?
“That’s too bad. I think we could have a good time. I hope I didn’t make you angry. I really do think you’re cute.” I almost felt better, but then I realized it was just another line. He was good at his game. Very slick. Very clean. He leaned in close and put his hand on my junk. I slid my palm over my pants pocket where my wallet was located. “So what do I owe you for the Appletini?”
I wanted to say “nothing”. I wanted to throw the rest of my drink in his face. I wanted to tell the bartender that he was fucking 19 years old and to get the fucking cops cuz I was about to punch out a nigger whore. Instead, I pulled him closer and said, “You better kiss me”.
His eyes lit up with my abrasive tone and we kissed. Actually, “kissed” is too sweet of a term. We tore into each other’s lips. I bit into Eve’s apple. It was dangerously passionate, full of spite, anger, and dirty, animal attraction. I ended the kiss before he did and drank the rest of the alcohol to burn off any potential ghetto cooties. At the end of the day, he smelled nice and had good teeth, so I wasn’t too worried about where his dumb ass lips had been. I paid the tab in cash and told him I had to go meet my friend.
He followed me out into the street. We walked by a Starbucks and he axed me, “You wanna get me a frappucino?” You have to be fucking kidding me. I told him ‘no’ and we went our separate ways.
I will never order chocolate ice cream. Give me Pralines & Cream any day.
not having cable or a consistent internet connection sure has helped my dating life. i use the word ‘help’ very loosely. i have had more free time to go on dates, sure, but this past couple weeks has proven one thing to me – everyone i date is crazier than me. for real. i am a crazy magnet. this is a given. i will be the sane one in any relationship. i know this, and yet i am not prepared to live a lifetime of sanity. i have a small army of weirdos who have been training me for my inevitable crazy-but-not-too-krazy boyfriend.
maybe i will just opt not to have the crazy boyfriend. single forever.
boy #1 - wouldn’t make eye contact with me. said he was vegetarian online, but ordered a turkey burger. instigated a game of footsies with me on our bar stool (without really making eye contact), but then gave me a hand shake good-bye and said, “well it was very nice meeting you. have a great night.” it’s ok, buddy, i wasn’t going to call you anyway.
boy #2 – ordered a beer and a rum and coke. both were for him. way to double fist. RED FLAG! we scheduled a second date, he forgot about it because he was too hungover from whatever he did the night before.
boy #3 – wiccan.
boy #4- met this one a long time ago, he found me again online. when he got to my apartment, he had surprisingly brought over a leather collar, a leather cock ring, and two giant butt plugs. we had only made plans to get lunch. try getting out of that one. disturbing.
boy #5 – he ordered what i ordered, like a frail sheep. mandarin chicken salad. he proceeded to talk about watersports. a lot.
boy #6 – an actor. very nice. great smile. charming. funny. adorable. laughed at all my jokes. hasn’t called called me back.
well yay. i can’t wait to get murdered after an enjoyable evening of chardonnay and chicken burritos.
YOU: What happened in court today?
ME: Nothing.
At 3am this morning, I had a surprise visitor stumble upon me in Bed-Stuy. My great friend, Colleen, was visiting from Connecticut to see a boy about “closure”, but she got drunk and her evening led her to spending the night on my sawdust covered futon. Brian bought us egg sandwiches and we left for court. Colleen wanted to go along “for the experience”. I made her take a picture of Brian and I on the steps of the courthouse. I love Colleen.
I was thrilled to find out that our judge was a middle-aged Chinese woman who spoke with a zen-like tone and wore a tank top. She was totally going to be on our side. I just knew it. Then, we met our d-bag landlord’s d-bag lawyer, Something Shapiro. He tried to make us to commit to payments and we told he that we weren’t going to be making payments at all. Something Shapiro had no idea about the conditions of the apartment or that the city was already involved and had sent Indians to fix our floor. Something Shapiro rolled his eyes and mumbled something about how he hated our d-bag landlord, who not only didn’t show up, but wouldn’t answer his cell phone when his lawyer tried calling him. Hilarious.
Something Shapiro told the judge that we weren’t willing to settle and she set a trial date for May 20th. She told us to that we “might want to seek the advice of an attorney”. I think she has to tell that to everyone. She didn’t even want to see my giant book of evidence that I had put together. She didn’t know that we were actually ready for trial at that moment if we needed to be. She didn’t know that I am perfectly capable of representing myself in this matter. See you next month!
Colleen was disappointed that she didn’t get to see me in action at court, so she hopped on a train back to Connecticut. After a hardcore, three hour nap, I woke up to Brian making plans for a mojito party. I was gonna go see I’m From Barcelona with The Traveler, but then we realized that the concert was in Hoboken. Mojitos won out and he came over, along with The Straights, The Other Straights, Jeanne & Adam, and Raffy & Vladimir. Brian had to leave for an audition at UCB and left his mojito party just as it was getting good. We were playing a game we invented called Shoeball in my freshly tiled room. The Indians had put the finishing touches on it just 30 minutes before everyone showed up for mojitos. Instead of setting my room back up, we turned it into a shoeball court.
The Traveler tripped me (on accident…. I think) and I busted my knee cap. Since I was still in court mode, I took some photographic evidence of the injury he gave me. We decided that since he has met some of my friends now, he doesn’t need to have a secret blog name. The Traveler is hereby given a real name – Paul. He’s the blonde in the gray shirt who looks like he likes to trip people a lot for no reason. Jerk.
Raffy & Vladimir were the last guests standing by the time Brian got back from his late-night audition. We were quite the wasted fags. I loved the Impromptu Mojito Party! It was exactly what what was needed to shake off the court crap and reset my emotional rollercoaster for next month. Luckily, I have three big auditions this week, a cute boy, Madonna’s new CD that drops this Tuesday, and an upcoming wedding with rednecks to keep my mind off my stupid apartment. Also, I make slideshows….
First off, Bri-Bri and I have a real, live court date scheduled with our landlord for next Friday, April 25th!!!!! I am probably the only defendant in all of Kings County who is legitimately thrilled to be going to court. I simply cannot wait to bring in fancy, photographic evidence, papers and forms from the city documenting the disrepair of the building, and videos of us on youtube chasing a mouse out of the house. I am currently working on a giant binder to organize and color code all of our court materials. I am a regular Erin Brockovich!
Our shady landlord probably won’t even show his scummy, little, fat face. His lawyer’s heads will spin when they see how prepared I am. Bring it on! Light it up! Set it off!
Last night I had a delicious Vietnamese meal. I had never been to a real Vietnamese restaurant before. I mean, I’ve gone to little hole in the wall places in Garden Grove, California, but they think that anything is Vietnamese food if you put a bottle of Sriracha Sauce on the table. The tasty restaurant I went to last night was called O Mai. This new dude I’m hanging out with suggested it. He certainly knows his restaurant hot spots. Last week, we went to Nomad and had a delightfully zesty, lemon chicken stew. I haven’t decided on a blog name for this guy yet, mostly because I know he will be reading this blog! So, I won’t be able to talk about how bad he smells, or ugly he is, or how both of those things are lies and I actually think he’s quite adorable. Maybe I’ll call him The Traveler since he knows a lot of different languages and travels a lot. There. It’s settled. The Traveler.
Today is sooooo slooooow at the office. Everyone is in Manhattan at some fancy meeting. It will take them all day to get there and all night to get back because The Pope is in town and is gumming up the traffic works. Who knew The Pope would be so popular? I think this Pope is a pretty boring Pope… and a step backwards for all them Catholics anyway. Yawn, yawn, yawn. I would be asleep because he is so boring, but he is creepy looking enough that I am vaguely awake.
OK, well this unspecific blog entry is nearly over. I’m going to a farm in The Poconos this weekend, so I am checking out for a spell. I never thought I would be one of those people who say, “I just gotta get out of the city for a little bit”, but it appears that that is EXACTLY what I have to say right now. Especially right before my big week of construction and court dates! That’s right, the construction guys called me and said their permit is approved and they will start work this Monday. Woo-hoo!
Yes. It happened. I went speed dating last weekend. Brian made me promise to go with him, so I did. I got two other friends to go with us too. We were a fierce foursome. There were at least 70 other single dudes in the cramped room. I was number 005. We wanted good seats, so were arrived early and sat together in a row. This became problematic when the inner circle of losers started rotating and ran into a little section of actors/writers/improvisers. One of my friends handed out flyers to his one-man show to everyone. I was last in my line of friends and by the time the herd of dicks got to me, they were sooo over talking to actors/writers/improvisers. There wasn’t any way to make them laugh. I had to work a different angle.
Topics that I covered included having been a special ed teacher in the past, my love for horror movies (funny the stuff you’ll cling to when you don’t have anything else to talk about), and how loud it was in the room (like that). One of the hotter boys seemed genuinely disgusted that he had to talk to me. He wasn’t mean, but his face was absolutely clear that he was disappointed to have been randomly matched with me. Can’t you just fake it for three minutes? I know this situation is a little lame, and I am just as embarrassed as you are to be here, but cut the crap and stop making me feel like a fat slug. At the very least, I know that I am not boring!
The boyfriend interviews continued for a full hour. Some of the other toddlers I met included a very tiny acupuncturist, a sound designer with bugged out eyes, and a manny. There was one guy who was pretty hot and awesome. He had carefully sculpted chops and was a theatre director who recently had traveled to Paris. He was beefy in a good way and looked like he was versatile in the sack. Alas, we did not match.
In fact, I only matched with one guy. He was sort of New Jersey trash, which is hot for about two minutes. I actually asked him, “What do you do for fun?” and he actually answered, “Get naked!” I’m pretty sure he was wearing a little bit of make-up. He was crazy. I am a crazy magnet. That’s just my cross to bear in life. Guys who have just been released from mental hospitals love me. Admittedly, I do like my men to be a touch nutzo, but in a good way. It keeps the relationship fun and zesty. What am I talking about? I have never even really had a real relationship. I don’t think anyone in that cramped room ever has either.
Sophia: how was the date with The Boozer?
me: wellllll
he called at 5pm but i was already in my PJs
he’s coming over tonight to watch reality tv
Sophia: nice!
well at least it wasnt a blow off
me: no it wasn’t. he called me twice
Sophia: be careful
no one likes a cling on
me: HA
Klingons
wasnt that star trek or something
star wars
Sophia: god knows
Sent at 9:04 PM on Thursday
Sophia: i think Fiest was on my train this morning
but i dont know
im looking at a pic now and it looked like her
but she looks like 80% of the females in nyc
me: but she’s canadian
Sophia: she got on the A train at 145th street
me: why would she be up there?
Sophia: to be cool
me: i hope she writes a song about it
Sophia: me too
Sent at 9:37 PM on Thursday
me: WOW feist really does look like 80% of females in nyc
Sophia: RIGHT?!
she was with a young couple
they were chatting
me: i would imagine feist is a chatter
Sophia: the guy she was with looked like that guy from project runway
the girl was bi-racial
me: those are definitely types that would be chatting with feist
Sophia: i know
i totally saw feist today
Getting drunk on a Monday is lame. I am officially old now.
Last night I had a full evening of plans. Usually Monday nights are my laundry-stay-at-home night, but I packed in two Friday nights into one, little Monday. I met up with a dude I’ve been hanging out with right after work. I don’t have a clever nickname for this guy because I think I actually might like-like this one. Hmm. Maybe I’ll call him Like-Like. So I met up with Like-Like at Forbidden Planet, a giant comic book store. Like-Like loves “graphic novels” and it was actually very fun walking through this explosion of superheroes, animation, and action figures. I bought a tiny little Winnie the Pooh who was dressed up inside a glue bottle. I really wanted to buy some weird Japanese shit, but it was too expensive.
We slowly fell in like-like with each other over some chimichangas. Conversation whizzed by and as soon as we finished 4 or 5 margaritas (I honestly can’t remember) I had to go to meet up with The Straights because we were going to see Chromeo in concert. The studly latino waiter brought our check and some free dessert shots of something he called “La Cucaracha”. Like-Like and I sort of stumbled/glided into the street where he went in for an after dinner kiss. Adorable.
I was in a pretty dope mood when I met up with The Straights. “Another round on me!” Perhaps I yelled it a little too faggy in the nearly empty bar because I caught a few sideways glances. Whatever. Two hot (almost) lesbians were making out in the corner, then started working on what appeared to be homework on their laptops. OK, fine, do your homework in a bar.
A few more rounds into our Chromeo pre-game, Sophia asked about the tickets. Jon immediately deflated. He had left them at work. We thought he was joking at first, but it turned out he was not. Instead, we played Scatergories and Connect 4. Thank god that bar had board games otherwise the night would have been ruined. We laughed and drank and made fun of the stupid bartender. When we were getting ready to walk out, the lesbians came up to us and wanted to play Connect 4. Sure, why not. It’s only 11:00pm on a fucking Monday! So another round of booze, of course. A fresh Captain and Coke appeared in front of me like magic. We all got to chatting and I find out the lesbians are from The OC! Crazy! They grew up in Huntington Beach! Weird! They went to my high school! SHUT THE DOOR! GET OUT OF TOWN!
The Straights and I got a falafel. Jon said one of the lesbians looked like Paris Hilton. Sophia disagreed and threw my baklava in the garbage. I don’t know why she did it. I didn’t think the lesbian looked like Paris Hilton, but I was laughing and we were hammered so that made me guilty. I dug my baklava out of the garbage and ate it anyway.
Wow. I can’t believe I am gonna be 31.
Well, it’s official. I’m boy crazy. I’m Rizzo and Sandy from ‘Grease’ all rolled into one. Over the last few months, I have slowly been introducing myself to the active dating scene here in NYC. I cut the emotional strings with ex-friend crush-person, and signed up for various dating sites and have even been more forward in bars towards dudes that caught my eye. My game needs a little polishing, but I seem to be more popular with the boys than I originally expected. While there have been several boys popping up on the radar, here is a brief overview of the more interesting bros.
Towel Boy – 34, invited me to go nude camping with a group of sporty bears. I declined. The second time we ever met up, he was wearing a beach towel as a skirt in the bar. It was funny, weird, and sexy all at once. He got drunk and made out with a lesbian at my house warming party. Cute enough, but we weren’t moving beyond the great sexual connection.
Booze Hound – 27, very cute cub who loves his cocktails. Great sense of humor and appreciates reality TV. I do like a guy who can hang at bars and throw down a few, but this guy can drink me under the table. We also seem to have great sexual energy, but I am looking for more versatility in the bedroom and this guy seems like a pretty hungry bottom.
The Cartoonist – 23, adorable and rude, but in a funny way. He does comics for different publications, including The New Yorker. He has a very Oscar Wilde-y vibe – dandy and droll. He can turn a phrase like Capote, his tongue a vicious whip. Ultimately, he was a little too mean and young for my tastes.
Black Guy – 35, nice guy who is partnered with a white guy who is quite often out of town. Great conversationalist and I love how his West Village apartment is decorated. He is the perfect definition of ‘Fuck Buddy’ – no emotional investment, cool vibe, and versatile, freaky, black-people sex. Seriously, I didn’t think I would love black dick, but after living here for almost five years, I had to try it at some point. He has a ugly/cute bulldog named ‘Rosie’ who loves me.
Fake Hipster – 29, hottest of the bunch and makes me feel like I am dipping into a different class of dudes who may be a touch out of my league. We’ve only gone out twice, but I likey this one a ton. He plays the clarinet and saxaphone. He is openly scared about turning 30 in a couple months an I think that’s cute. He also owns seasons 1 AND 2 of ‘The OC’.
Last night, I met up with a new prospect, Mr. Missouri. He was cute, funny, and totally called me out on a certain, um, indiscretion. I was wearing a cute Kangol hat and a scarf. He was like, “nice hat, what, are you balding or something?” HAHAHA! I took it off and was like, “well a little thinning, but nothing serious, I just like the hat!” We laughed, then he asked about the scarf, “you’re probably covering up a hickey”. BUSTED. I tried to tell him that I burned myself with my curling iron, but he wasn’t going for it. I actually did have a fucking hickey.
Booze Hound has a bad habit of doing that to me. He also screams out ‘daddy’ a little to seriously realistic for my tastes. I am now That-Guy- Who-Shows-Up-To-A-Date-With-A-Hickey-From-Another-Dude. Luckily, both Mr. Missouri and I thought it was hilarious and we had a sweet little first date. He just moved here 12 days ago and is in the middle of finding work and a place to live and all that NYC Newbie shit. He is a singer too. We’re going to the movies Sunday.
This sounds cliche, but… dating is so weird.
My shoes and socks are drenched. I have swamp foot. My entire lower half of my body is wet, and not in a good way. I fell in a giant puddle. It was raining cats and dragons today and I was one of the storm’s victims. Now I know how Katrina survivors feel. It serves me right, though, for lying.
Today, I made plans with Booze Hound for what he called “a nooner”. This would also be known as an “Afternoon Delight” or “quickie on your lunch break” in layman’s terms. I work extremely close to where I live, so I thought it would be a fun to see what it’s like to rush home, take off my tie, and dump a load. I lied to my office and said that I had to go home and “let the guys who are there to fix the radiator in the apartment”.
Before I left, I had this amazing IM conversation with my friend on gchat.
me: i have an afternoon delight planned today
Nick: whats that
me: sex date at lunchtime
Nick: hes coming to your work?
me: no, home
i live close
Nick: are you guys eating lunch together?
me: nope
Nick: well when will you have lunch?
me: i dont know! i hadn’t thought of that
Nick: maybe you should have a snack before you go then
me: maybe
Nick: won’t you be hungry?
me: maybe, i’ll eat something quick at home
Nick: one time, in college, i met this guy
nevermind, its stupid
me: no! do tell! you can’t start a story and not tell it
Nick: well i met this guy online and we had never talked before or anything. we met at the school library and sat across from each other at our computer desks. we emailed each other back and forth commanding each other to do stuff like ‘roll up your sleeves’ or ‘cough three times’
it was hot
and it was nice that it was at a school library because it was clean and sexy, not like a city library or anything
me: omg i love it
Nick: then he would go look for books in an aisle and i would start looking for books next to him and we would just sort of start touching each other
me: you’re killing me, im dying
Nick: well this whole afternoon delight thing reminds me of that
me: this may be all i think about now during it
Nick: eat a snack first
I failed to eat a snack first and after the delight was finished, the sky had opened up and began creating huge puddles in the streets. Booze Hound ran to the subway, while I tried to gingerly hop across the forming rivers. It was the hardest rain I’ve seen in a long time. I was drenched in seconds, even with my water resistant jacket and umbrella ella ella.
At one point, there was an enormous puddle that covered the sidewalk. You couldn’t walk around it unless you walked in the street. I was very nervous of passing cars (I notice I tend to be jumpy in and around cars ever since The Crash) so while I was walking forward, I kept looking over my shoulder, for safety reasons. I slipped and fell in the puddle I was trying to avoid. Soaked from my waist to my toes. Shoes ruined. I almost started crying, but that would make me a bitch, so I didn’t, instead I whined, “Moooommmmmy” out loud and to no one. My cell phone was wet, my wallet was wet, my underwear was wet, my dick was wet, again, and the fact that I was still holding my umbrella ella ella seemed ludicrous. I trudged back into my office, super late from my break, and sat, dripping wet, at my desk.
I’m hungry.
What a difference a day makes!
Yesterday’s ice storm had me all a-fluster. I watched the slushy stuff hail down out my window all day while several matters avalanched around me. I was going to go watch ‘Survivor:China‘ with Jeff at Bruce’s house, but decided I didn’t want to trudge through the weather just to be a lump of crabby energy on his sofa. I opted to go home and sulk.
Turns out, a date I went on last week gave me a jingle. He is a great step up from Towel Boy, so my interest has been caught. He is a self-described booze hound and does the Lords work by selling theatre tickets to old ladies in midtown. We drank rum and watched reality TV. Two of my favorite things! We talked about our love for New York and how we love watching black people fight with each other. He made reference to his alcoholic father yelling ‘faggot’ at him at family gatherings. For a second, I thought he was getting ready to leave when he went to get his coat. Instead, he got a cute, little bag out of his pocket and asked if I smoke pot! I told him absolutely not. I only eat pot.
Booze Hound and I listened to my new favorite band of all time (MGMT). He admired all my nutty art on my walls, which is nice. He passed the kissing test (and then some). I woke up this morning with three fucking hickeys. Are you kidding me? It looks like I got punched in the neck. Now I know the post-prom shame of every girl in high school (besides me). Booze Hound seems slightly insane, and since I am functionally insane, I’m sure a third date will be in our future. Why? For awhile, I used to wonder why crazy guys were attracted to me. Then, I realized, that I am attracted to crazy guys so it all works out. Just not TOO crazy.
Go Todd! I hope you win ‘Survivor: China’…but if not you, then Amanda.
Towel Boy has officially been cut loose.
Friday night he took me to go see ‘Gone Baby Gone’, Ben Affleck’s directorial debut from the writers of ‘Mystic River’, and smuggled in some Jack Daniels into the theatre. I am all for drinking. I thought it was cute when we got hammered when we went and saw ‘Superbad’. I thought it was juvenile fun when we got smashed at an improv show in a basement in the east village. I saw red flags when he showed up tossed at the beginning of my house warming party and started telling girls he didn’t know that he used to be bisexual and would totally fuck them if they had wanted. I like good-crazy, but crazy that I am not sure of is a turn off.
Usually he is all cuddly at the movies, but this time he cuddled his bottle alot more than me. You know what? I didn’t miss it. Sure, heavy petting in the darkened movie theatre is fun, but not if there isn’t any real connection (look – I never got to do it in high school, OK? So, the island of Manhattan becomes Land of Gay High School Coulda-woulda-shoulda’s. Prom anyone?). Towel Boy has always seemed to be a little bit all about the sex. Yeah, regular, constant, awesome sex was great at the beginning of our….um, courting?… but it also made me realize that I am not really interested in sex unless there is something more to it anymore. What a girl I am!
After the movie we went to Gym Bar (gay sports bar, hilarious) and had some drinks. I asked him what he thought of the movie (I hated it, just like I hated ‘Mystic River’). He looooved it. He thought Casey Affleck was really great and the “surpise” twists were genuine surprises (I saw both the twist and the fake twist from a mile away and Casey mumbled for two hours). We didn’t really talk much. We watched some hot cub dudes make out in the corner. He watched some football game on TV. I really can’t get behind his sports enthusiasm either. However, I am thinking of becoming a Red Sox fan just because I like how violent people get in the streets.
We went back to his place even though I just wanted to go home and watch ‘Ugly Betty’. It was a block away so I might as well. He watched some bullshit ESPN shit on TV while I did my best to put forth a bottom vibe. This whole top/bottom/versatile thing has been an issue with him from the get go. We both said we were versatile when we met, but turns out he is a big old bottom. We talked about it once, and he was like, “oh yeah, I’m mostly a bottom, hope that’s ok”. Ugh! No, it’s not! Boys, let’s just all be versatile, shit! So stupid. They are both awesome!
So I hate fucked him for about an hour and, the next day over the phone, told him I didn’t see this progressing any further than being a fuck buddy. He didn’t seem too upset. While I will miss incorporating the act of fucking in my work out routine, I will not miss pretending there might be something there that isn’t. I’m a busy guy, I don’t have time for forced connections.
I think I am gonna sign up for match.com again. Also, I am taking applications for a good wing man if anyone is interested.
After my second session with the new therapist (she’s old and all womanly, ugh), I met up with Craig and we jetted over to Klong in the east village and had a lovely thai dinner with The Straights. They had tickets to go see New Yong Pony Club and Craig and I had tickets to go see Mates of State so we all thought it would be fun to get a little drunk before our shows.
Boy, those Thai people are pushy about getting us out of the restaurant! No shame! Sophia and I barely had time to finish our pomegranate martinis, so I gave Craig the infant message book I found at the garage sale in Pennsylvania and we all went to some shitty NYU bar around the corner.
We all drank too much for a Thursday night. Craig and I left The Straights at the bar and headed to the Lower East Side, where it can be a little scary when the streets are named after words and not numbers….
You know? I am so tired and hungover and it’s raining out my window at work and I feel a little gloomy and an ounce of sad…I don’t even care to finish this blog. How about that world? I think instead I will go to the bathroom and head into the city to get drunk again with Towel Boy. We’re gonna see a movie and then I will probably have to fuck him, since he is a total bottom and, really, how annoying is that? About as annoying as not having sex in the first place.
Anyway, Mates of State were great. They are adorable. I can’t wait for their new CD.
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